


Tales from the Roundtable

by Zeborah



Category: Criminal Minds, Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 18:49:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6918970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeborah/pseuds/Zeborah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Prentiss leaves the BAU, Hotch is interviewing potential replacements - starting with one Agent Emma Swan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ordinarily I like to finish a long story before I start posting it, but I don't really have an overarching story in mind here. I'm envisaging more a series of sequential but stand-alone vignettes, to be written and posted if and when inspiration strikes....

Anderson interrupted the BAU roundtable with a quiet knock on the doorframe.

"I'll be right there," Hotch told him and, as Anderson extracted himself, finished, "Five bodies may have been found so far but we know in cases like this there may be a lot more. Wheels up in twenty."

The much-depleted remainder of the team dispersed, and Hotch headed to his office. The woman waiting for him was blonde, not tall but projecting a self-assurance to make up for it, and unusually casually dressed for a job interview. It was meant to say _Take me or leave me_ , but she wore the red leather jacket like armour against being hurt again. Or rejected.

"Agent Hotchner," she greeted him, sticking out her hand with a smile like they were old friends. "Emma Swan."

Her handshake was firm and business-like. "Agent Swan," he said as briefly. "I'm sorry we couldn't get hold of you before you caught your flight. The position's been filled."

She looked taken aback. "No, it hasn't."

Hotch had been prepared for a number of reactions, but not that matter-of-fact denial. "I'm sorry?"

"You're brushing me off. Why—? Crap," she concluded. "You found my record."

"You spent 11 months in prison for possession of stolen goods and multiple counts of shoplifting."

"At least it wasn't murder?" she tries, then winces. "Okay, I was a teenage screwup, I thought I was doing what I had to do to survive, I was wrong. After I served my time I turned my life around, and there is _nothing_ wrong with my record in Missing Persons."

"Which is why I won't be telling your supervisor about this," Hotch said to forestall any more defensiveness: he had a plane to catch. "But the BAU has no place for agents with a criminal background."

"You're lying again," she said in wonder.

On the verge of outright telling her to take a hint and leave, he cocked his head. He'd met his share of interesting job candidates over the years, but no-one else had ever accused him of lying. Let alone twice. Correctly. "Why do you say that?"

"Uh," she said, belatedly wary. "I've got this skill, let's call it a superpower. —I mean, I must be picking up on changes in body language or intonation or microexpressions or something, but the point is I can tell when anyone is lying. The hard part is figuring out what the truth is."

"Speculate."

"You... want me to—" As he let his face betray his impatience, she stuck her hands in her pockets and jutted her chin out. "Okay. My records were sealed, and no-one found them when I applied to the Bureau. So how did you? Unless you didn't exactly go through the proper channels to get them. You hacked— No," she corrected herself, glancing at the stacks of paper, not computer equipment, covering his desk. "You got someone in your team to hack into the system. _That's_ why you won't tell my supervisor."

"As speculation that's plausible," Hotch agreed neutrally. It was close to the truth, but not impressively so. In fact Garcia had sent the files unasked. From the UK: he did not want to know how she'd not only been tracking his search for a new profiler but also accessed sealed state Corrections records from overseas. "In any case—"

"But it's not the only thing you lied about," Swan pursued. "So what place _does_ the BAU have for an agent with a criminal background, and why would you give them a chance and not me? You could hire a hacker as a technical analyst, but the lie was about an agent. So some other sealed juvie deal: you didn't know when you hired them and you didn't do anything when you found out because the team is family." Her eyes slipped there to his photo of Jack — noted the absence of a photo of his mother — didn't have the angle to confirm or deny a ring on Hotch's finger, but that had her taking a second look at him, from polished shoes to silk tie and perfectly impassive face. He saw a flash of recognition; turning wheels; a moment of calculation and then she plunged in: "Or maybe you didn't hire them at all. And their — _your_ — parents were rich enough to keep it off the record in the first place."

Or worked in the prosecutor's office. Though yeah, informal diversion to boarding school certainly hadn't hurt. "So of those possibilities, what do my microexpressions tell you?"

She laughed, less at the question than in relief that he hadn't taken the accusation amiss, and shook her head. "That you've got one hell of a poker face. My superpower only works on lies. Otherwise I'm stuck investigating like anyone else — which you know I'm good at," she added in an impulsive segue to the hardsell. "You've got a case right now, and you're an agent down. Take me with you and I'll show you what I can do."

He studied her determined, desperately hopeful expression. Her record in Missing Persons _was_ impressive. She had exceptional instincts, and more importantly recognised their limits. Prison record aside — and having served her time was perhaps a step further up the moral high ground than the rest of them — it was hard to think of any other reason not to let her prove herself. Besides, she was wrong about one thing: with Morgan as well as Garcia seeing Prentiss settled in the UK, they weren't one agent down, but two. "This is not an offer of employment, Swan."

A blinding smile broke across her face. "Absolutely. Trial period only."

He checked his watch. "Wheels up in sixteen minutes means you've got about twelve to be on the tarmac with your go-bag and your supervisor's blessing."

"I'll be there in eight," she said at once. Between foster care and life on the street, she'd probably had a go-bag to hand since the time she could walk. "You won't regret this, Agent Hotchner, trust me."

And with her face so much the open book, it was very hard not to.


	2. Chapter 2

Usually Reid didn't eavesdrop on his coworkers' private phone calls. Much. But Swan never got private phone calls, and it _had_ come to her work phone, and her matter-of-fact answers had quickly turned into an exasperated, "You're not listening to me. I don't know who he is, but he's not my son. I don't _have_ a son. —Crap: how old is he?"

Reid kept turning pages as his ears pricked up, but the rest was only a disjointed, "Fine, I'll come down— No, don't— I told you I never— You know, never mind." And she hung up and was halfway to the doors before he had a chance to blink. There already someone from the front desk was ushering in a ten-year-old boy with a backpack slung over his shoulder and a determined look on his face.

A friend's son, he thought. Though she'd never mentioned any friends. It didn't mean she didn't have any, but... she held herself a little apart from everyone in a way that seemed more habit than intention. She'd as much as said she didn't have any family.

Perhaps a runaway from an old case, running away again? That would explain the backpack, and hunger would explain why he veered towards the kitchenette as soon as his escort and Swan's attentions were distracted by a fiercely whispered argument. He didn't get far though before Swan caught him and — the escort having already made a prompt escape — hauled him up to the conference room where she shut the door and pulled the blinds.

With nothing more to watch, Reid returned to his stack of casefiles. But he kept half an eye on the reflection on his computer monitor, so when he saw Hotch striding purposefully into Rossi's office with a handful of folders he knew the conference room wasn't going to be free for long.

Hurrying up there, he knocked and poked his head in. "I'm so sorry to interrupt," he said earnestly, "but I'm pretty sure Hotch is about to present a case so, um—"

The harried look in her eyes turned even more desperate. "I've got to get him out of here."

He let himself in properly and closed the door behind him. "We can get someone to drive him home. Or, um, to school. Where's he supposed to be?"

"I don't know, he says he wants me to take him home but he won't tell me where that is."

"Because you have to come with me," the boy insisted. "And I have a name. It's Henry. I'm her son," he added, offering his hand to Reid.

" _Birth_ son," Swan corrected.

"Oh. Um, I don't shake hands, but... nice to meet you. Spencer Reid. I've got a godson called Henry," he added, but this Henry only narrowed his eyes suspiciously at him. He gave up on attempting to build rapport and asked Swan, "Er, closed adoption?"

"I've no idea how he found me," she confirmed. "I tried looking in his bag for a name or _something_ but it's just a bunch of candy bar wrappers and this book of fairy tales." _Once Upon a Time_ was embossed on the leather cover. "Who runs away with a book of fairy tales?"

"They're not fairy tales," Henry said. "They're true. Every story in this book actually happened."

Reid put in, "You know fairy tales are an abundant source of commentary on the human condition so in a sense—"

"Sure," Swan interrupted, "but to run away you need clothes, real food, money—" And on that note she realised: "I didn't find any money in his bag."

Henry took a nervous step back. In unison they grabbed him and, while he was loudly protesting his rights, turned up a credit card in his coat pocket.

Reid got his phone out and hit speed-dial. "Hey, Garcia, can you get contact details for an M M Blanchard: I've got a credit card number—"

"Oh honey-bun, give me a hard one," she said and, when he'd read out the number, reeled off, "Mary Margaret Blanchard, Storybrooke, Maine. Please tell me this jerkface isn't working on the east coast too now."

"What? Oh. No, this is a different, um, case."

Swan put in, "Has she reported a son missing in the last day or two?"

"Ah, no, Miss Mary Margaret does not have much of an internet profile but as far as I can tell she's single, no children. She does teach elementary, though." Henry looked faintly guilty at that. "And before you ask, one of her students Henry _has_ been reported missing. Ooh: son of the town's mayor, one Regina Mills."

"Garcia, you're a lifesaver," Swan said fervently.

"Naw, does that mean I'm forgiven for the thing where I did the thing?"

With an awkward laugh she said, "Yeah, you're forgiven. Can you just let Ms Mills know her son's safe and we'll be sending him right on home."

"Wilco and out."

Henry's face took on an anguished look. "Please don't send me back there."

"I have to," she said. "I'm sure your parents are worried sick about you."

"I don't have parents. Just a mom, and she's evil."

"Evil? That's a bit extreme, isn't it?"

"She is. She doesn't love me. She only pretends to."

"Kid. I'm sure that's not true."

Casting desperately around he said, "Come and see for yourself!"

"I've got to work, kid. You want to see evil, try a— a serial killer who sews his victim's mouths shut."

"Er," Reid started.

But undaunted Henry retorted, "Yeah, well, my mom rips people's hearts out while they're still alive and crushes them into dust!"

Reid blinked. Swan said helplessly, "Oh, kid, you've got problems."

Reid winced and said, "Sorry, can we just have a really quick moment—" She gave him an incredulous look, but turned to the door. He grabbed the book on the way out and at Henry's protests said, "I swear I'll bring it right back."

Outside with the door closed, while Reid rifled quickly through the book (no publication page, let alone ISBN, and though the lettering and illustrations seemed perfect he was fairly certain they'd been handwritten and drawn) Swan whispered, "You can't believe him!"

"No," he murmured back, "obviously he's speaking metaphorically and I think — besides the fact that his mother's name means 'queen' in Latin — it's pretty clear where he's drawing his imagery from." One of the pictures showed a woman dressed in black raiment, a savagely delighted look on her face and a glowing heart in her hand. "But just because his mother isn't literally the Evil Queen from Snow White doesn't mean there isn't _something_ going on."

"Yeah, he's an adopted kid whose mom spends too much time at the office so he figures she doesn't love him like a real mom would."

"Or maybe she's a narcissistic sociopath: I mean if it was a closed adoption you wouldn't really—"

She bristled. "What are you—"

Rapidly he swerved to, "I'm just saying maybe it's worth treating his concerns as valid—"

"I'm not going with him to this Storybrooke!"

"No, but you could, maybe, give him your email address or... He's less likely to run away again if he has another way to— to communicate with you," he tried.

Swan was opening her mouth for a resounding no when Hotch stepped out of Rossi's office and glanced their way. Quickly she straightened and asked him, "Got a case?"

"California," he said, and glanced at the closed door behind them. "Is everything okay?"

"Absolutely," she asserted confidently. "Everything's fine."

"Okay." He glanced at Reid too, who thought at least he wasn't doing a _worse_ job of looking like nothing was going on. "Meeting in five."

"Right." She held the business-like expression until he'd turned his back, then mouthed a heartfelt expletive and wheeled back into the conference room.

Reid wasn't sure he was invited, but he did have to return the book of fairy tales, so he scuttled in after her.

Henry all but pounced on the book. While he stuffed it protectively in his bag, Swan closed the door firmly. "Okay, kid," she said, then amended herself: "Henry. I've got to go with my team on this case, but what I'm going to do is give you my email address, so if your mom tries to rip out any more hearts you can let me know about it right away."

"I shouldn't have told you about that," he said in resignation. "You're not ready. ...But I really, _really_ need you to come with me. Today."

"Why today?" Reid asked. Swan shot him an exasperated look. "I just want to understand what's so urgent—"

"It's her twenty-eighth birthday," Henry said.

"It's— Today?"

"Why does that matter?" she demanded.

Rapidly Reid explained, "One of the stories in the book has a baby who's prophesied to return on her twenty-eighth birthday, when the final battle will begin against the Evil Queen's curse. And, um, the baby's name is Emma."

"He thinks I'm this... _saviour_?"

"You just _read_ all that?" Henry asked at the same time.

"Um, yeah," he said, covering both questions at once.

Swan had a hand to her temple. "Okay. So it's all about magic, right? So how about you take back something of mine, like a... a proxy."

"I don't think it works that way," Henry said.

Reid leapt in with, "Actually it's a common feature of magical systems that parts of the whole can stand for the whole: that's why knowing someone's true name is said to give power over them. So likewise a lock of hair, or some of their blood or, um, urine—"

"Let's... stick with the lock of hair," Swan said. "What do you say, kid? It's my final offer: take it or leave it."

He grimaced, but thought about it. "A lock of hair and your email address," he clarified. She nodded and, reluctant but determined, he nodded back and stuck his hand out. "Deal."

*

One more solved case later, Swan put a piece of cake in front of Reid. "Last slice."

"Thanks," he said in surprise as she sat across from him. Elsewhere on the jet, Hotch, Morgan and JJ were needling Rossi about his accrued annual leave. Reid hadn't had much to contribute, since he usually used his to visit his mother or take a new course, and Swan had been even quieter: he got the feeling she didn't have much to use hers on either.

Awkwardly she asked, "So how _did_ you organise a whole birthday party with only quarter of an hour's notice?"

"Magic," he said smugly. "And a fairy godmother." He'd had the party hats and noisemakers in a drawer from the last team birthday, but it had been Garcia's cake (baked the night before in the hope that, though Swan had forbidden her to divulge any more personal details than she already had, the birthday would miraculously be revealed by other means) that had made the occasion.

Swan allowed, "I guess there must have been magic involved for Hotch to let us get away with it on the jet."

"Actually Hotch was the one who suggested cinnamon." Garcia hadn't been able to decide on a flavour, so had made three cakes.

"Cinnamon's my favourite," she said in surprise. "How did he...?"

"Magic," Reid repeated with a smirk. That and noticing which donut she dove for when the box went around.

She rolled her eyes at him, then turned her head to look across at the rest of the team. She obviously had something else on her mind, so he waited. After a moment she said, "You know what's kind of crazy? Before all that happened bought myself this cupcake at lunch, and I actually made a wish that I didn't have to be alone on my birthday. And then Henry showed up, and then you guys..." She trailed off like she still didn't understand why they'd have bothered to scrape together a rudimentary party for her.

"You're part of the team now," he explained, "and the team's kind of like family."

Awkwardly she rolled the shoulders of her leather jacket. "I don't really know how family works," she admitted.

"That's okay," he said: neither had he. Or... a lot of them. "You'll figure it out."


End file.
